"Where the dark wind passes, infants weep; in deserted homes, old women dwell; all living beings become withered bones. Beneath the Nine Netherworlds, the Yellow Springs vanish into Nonbeing; within a three-foot coffin, all submit to my lord..."
In the silent night, dim candlelight flickered gently. Hai Fengming spoke with measured rises and falls in his voice. When he mentioned the Underworld Lord, his tone grew heavy, charged with Rage and solemnity.
"The Underworld Lord first appeared four hundred years ago. Back then, she was a widow living in the countryside. Refusing to remarry, she toiled from dawn until dark every day, farming and weaving, swallowing bitterness and enduring hardship to raise her only son.
"Later, her son married, and the couple treated her with great filial devotion. She thought the bitterness had finally ended and sweetness had come, but unexpectedly, she kept living longer and longer. By the time she reached eighty, five generations lived under one roof.
"By then, her son had reached sixty and was old and frail. The Underworld Lord herself was plagued by illness, and her family had even prepared her coffin. Yet she clung to that last breath and simply would not die."
Glancing at the bright moon outside the window, Hai Fengming continued, "Even wealthy households can find that no filial child remains beside a bed of lingering illness, much less poor commoners. Once their money was exhausted, her son grew increasingly impatient with the Underworld Lord. When she began growing new teeth, as though her youth were returning, his impatience turned to fear.
"Just then, her great-grandson fell ill and failed to recover despite prolonged treatment. Her son believed a sorcerer's words and decided his old mother was feeding on her descendants' blessings. He intended to abandon her in the wilderness. The